


My Brother's Keeper

by FrenchKey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Lestrade, Case Related Gore, M/M, Might turn into unmitigated fluff, Pining, Pre-Canon, Silly Boys, Tumblr Prompt, everything works out in the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchKey/pseuds/FrenchKey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from Tumblr. Mycroft Holmes has a habit of kidnapping those associated with Sherlock. What happens when he makes Inspector Lestrade the same offer he made John?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Brother's Keeper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainOfShips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOfShips/gifts).



> This is based on a prompt someone put on Tumblr that I really liked and ran with.
> 
> ‘Mystrade Headcanon  
> Mycroft kidnapped Lestrade for information on Sherlock Holmes (kind of like how he kidnaps Jawn in A Study in Pink) but instead of turning Mycroft down, Lestrade takes the deal and now they meet once a month discussing Sherlock, and that’s how they've become such good friends and lovers.’
> 
> I intended this to be a short fic but once again it ran away with me. It's not finished at the moment so updating might be slightly irregular.
> 
> Just in case anyone is wondering, I have indeed changed the title. I gave it the original title in the middle of the night right before I posted it because I couldn't think of anything better. I am eternally grateful to my friend for suggesting the new (and very much improved title).

“We’re out of milk again, Greg!” the woman called over her shoulder as she bustled around the kitchen preparing a cup of tea. She sighed. “You said you were going to pick some up the other night. Did you forget or have we used it all?” 

She turned and looked over her shoulder at her husband. He was reclining at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper.

“Gregory!” She brandished the empty milk carton. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

The woman stormed over to her husband and prodded him in the shoulder. He dropped his newspaper and rubbed his shoulder.

“For goodness sake, Joanne! What was that for?” 

“If you ever bothered listening to me, you’d know! There’s no milk.”

He rolled his eyes. He had not yet had enough coffee to deal with another argument. 

“I’ll pick some up on my way back from the Yard.”

“Really? That would be helpful. It’s not like I’m gasping for a cuppa over here or anything.”

“If you’re that bothered why don’t you get some yourself? Anyone would think I hadn’t just spent a week trying to catch a bloomin’ serial killer! Get your own milk. I’m not the one who finished it in the first place.”

Greg shoved himself to his feet, his chair scraping back across the kitchen floor. He tossed his newspaper aside and stomped to the door. Joanne hurried after him.

“You told me you’d get milk three days ago!”

He shrugged into his coat, stuffed his feet into his shoes and wrenched his keys off the hook.

“I might be late home. Depends how many more bodies turn up. Have a nice day, Joanne.”

The sound of the door slamming closed behind him was incredibly satisfying.

~~~

Lestrade ran a hand through his hair and huffed. Donovan, standing over his left shoulder, growled under her breath. 

“What’s that? The third one this week?”

“Fourth, sir. There was another one called in late last night. They sent Dimmock’s team out. He’s just called to say it’s one of ours.”

They surveyed the gristly scene before them. The location had been looming on Lestrade’s desk in an innocent manila folder when he had arrived that morning. He had reached the scene to find what was clearly yet another strike from the serial killer that had been plaguing them for the last couple of weeks. Lestrade rocked back on his heels, tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and puffed out a large breath through pursed lips. It was not a pretty sight.

There was blood sloshed over every wall and piece of furniture in the small hotel room. The corpse on the bed was male, of average height, naked and badly mutilated. The killer had taken a knife to the victim’s face and appendages, leaving them covered in deep lacerations. Into the torso he had carved a letter.

“Another ‘i’ this time. What’s the point, sir?”

Donovan turned away from the macabre picture to speak. She swallowed a few times, eyes wide before jogging out of the room. Lestrade caught up with her at the hotel door where she stood gulping in the morning air. 

“Sorry, sir,” she muttered as Lestrade stepped up beside her and patted her briefly on the back.

“Don’t worry about it, Donovan. It’s never a pleasant sight. Give me a recap on the letters that have been used so far.”

“Yes, sir. It started with an ‘o’. Then we had ‘g,n and u’. They were the week before last. Last week we had ‘a, y, r and n’ and so far this week we’ve had ‘e, s’ and the ‘i’ here. Oh! And whatever Dimmock’s one has.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. There’s no pattern to it. Is it random?” Lestrade muttered to himself for several more moments. “Right, we’ll come back to the letters. Do we have an identity for this one yet?”

“No, sir. There was nothing on the body, or in the room. His face has been worked over too well to use visual identification. His fingerprints and DNA are being run through the database at the moment but it will be a while before we get a result. There’s a bit of a backlog.”

“No sign of his clothes or personal effects?”

“Nothing. Exactly the same as the rest of them.”

“Damn it!”

As Lestrade stomped back up the stairs his phone buzzed with a text. He stopped and fished it out.

‘Obvious. –SH’

He grunted, frustrated and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Sherlock Holmes’ mind games were the last thing he needed right now. He had only just started moving when his phone chimed again.

‘Anagram. – SH’ 

Lestrade barely restrained himself from growling. Honestly, did the man think he was stupid? He fired off a reply and continued up the stairs.

‘I know. –GL’

He repressed a wince at the half-truth. It was a possibility under consideration but hardly an immutable fact. He had barely made it two steps before his phone chimed again.

‘You don’t know what it means though. Idiot. –SH’

Lestrade did growl this time. 

‘Well if you’re so clever why don’t you just come and solve it yourself? –GL’

The chime of an incoming text was even quicker this time.

‘Text me the address. –SH’

Lestrade sighed. This could end up being the biggest mistake he had ever made or it could put one of London’s most wanted criminals behind bars. Having Sherlock Holmes on his crime scene voluntarily could set a dangerous precedent but he had to admit he was stumped. At this stage he would do anything to prevent any more murders. He texted.

~~~

Greg ambled along the pavement, en route to his favourite coffee shop. It had been a hellish two days since Sherlock had taken over his case and he felt he fully deserved a nice cup of Ecuadorian coffee to make up for it. At least they had caught the killer. 

As he wandered he thought back over the case and the way Sherlock had simply looked at the two most recent scenes and rattled off a string of information. He had been hard pressed to keep up with the man’s thought processes. It was really quite incredible. It was also incredibly annoying. Not content with deducing the crime scene, Sherlock had verbally eviscerated most of Lestrade’s team. It was a wonder nobody had punched him.

The growling of an engine idling next to him pulled Greg from his thoughts. The car was sleek and black and very nice, Greg noted. Whoever owned it obviously had money to spare. He sighed, thinking of his old rust-bucket and the pile of bills spilled across the coffee table at home. He gave the car a last appreciative glance and trudged on towards the enticing smell of freshly brewed coffee. The car drove a few yards past him and the back door opened into his path.

Greg faltered before sidestepping the door and moving on. The car crawled forward. Greg sped up. The car sped up. Greg slowed down. The car slowed down. Greg blinked. It was like a bizarre game of cat and mouse and he had been cast as the prey. He scowled, thrust his hands into his pockets and marched on. The car continued to keep pace until he finally slipped inside the café and took his place in the line.

“Detective Inspector! Taking away?”

The barista smiled at Greg as he began filling the unspoken order. Greg nodded a response and glanced at the window. The car hadn’t moved.  
“It’s been a quiet one today. Must be the threat of rain. Nasty weather we’ve been having. Could do without it. You been busy, Inspector?”

The man gestured as he talked, humming around the coffee machine distilling beans, frothing milk and rearranging cups. Greg twitched his head in a nod.

“Yeah it’s been a busy coupla weeks, Mark. Been up to here in paperwork and been called out every other day. Wish the weather put the criminals off the same way it puts off your customers.”

Mark pulled a face and nodded as he handed over a cardboard cup filled with fragrant coffee. Greg took it and handed him a fiver in exchange.

“Ta. It was good to see you, Inspector. Hope you don’t drown in all the paperwork.”

Greg smirked as he accepted his change from the man. 

“I make no promises. See you later.”

“See ya, Inspector.”

~~~

Greg couldn’t help but notice that the car still parked outside now had a well-dressed man standing next to it. He was tall and Greg was sure that the sharp suit hid well defined muscles. He was also frowning. Greg sighed and pushed open the coffee shop door. This was turning into one of his worst days in weeks and wasn’t even quite lunchtime yet.

The moment he stepped through the door the suited man stepped forward to meet him. He swept one arm out to gesture at the open door.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

Greg glanced from the car to the man and back again.

“You expect me to just get in?”

“It would certainly expedite the process.”

Greg raised one eyebrow and blinked. This day had gone from bad to awful to downright ridiculous in a matter of hours but he wasn’t stupid. 

“No, ta.”

A strong grip on his elbow prevented his attempt at walking away.

“It would not be in your best interests to turn my employer down.”  
Greg’s eyebrow climbed even further up his forehead.

“Really? Why is that exactly?”

The sardonic smirk on his face was belied by the hint of steel in his voice and the chips of ice in his blue eyes.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, please be reasonable. You are in no danger although I have been authorised to use force to ensure your timely arrival should you refuse to capitulate. Now,” he gestured again in the direction of the car, “Shall we?”


End file.
